


It's Tearing Up My Heart...

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Tumblr Drabble Challenge [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6831085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>#98: "“I can’t watch you with someone else. It’s tearing me apart."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Tearing Up My Heart...

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a pairing and a number. I will write you a drabble. This is a challenge taking place on tumblr but feel free to send me a pairing and a one sentence prompt on here too. You can find me on Tumblr as daringlydomestic!

John is enjoying the peaceful absence of Sherlock in the sitting room on a Sunday morning. His bare feet stretch languorously against the carpet and his mug of tea steams cheerily on the side table. Just as John is opening the newspaper, the front door _slams_  shut and a deep combative rumbling can be heard in the foyer below. 

“Sherlock Holmes!”

Mrs. Hudson’s shrill yell cuts through the morning air. So much for a peaceful morning.

John sets the paper aside and waits for his git of a flatmate to stomp up the seventeen stairs and into the flat. 

When Sherlock’s curly head appears around the corner, John points sternly at Sherlock’s chair.

“Sit.”

Astonishingly, Sherlock complies without a word, though he does shoot John a mutinous glare. Once Sherlock is curled into his chair, John closes the door and takes a deep calming breath.

“That’s quite enough now, yeah? I only moved back in six months ago and you have been downright stroppy and rude to me and Mrs. Hudson ever since. Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

Sherlock refuses to meet John’s eye and mutters petulantly.

“No.”

John feels the beginning pangs of fear niggling at the back of his mind. 

“Sherlock?”

No response.

“You know that, um, if you don’t - y’know - want me here…you can just say so, I mean…”

Sherlock’s eyes fly up to John’s face and he inhales deeply, as if he is about to launch into a tirade. Belatedly, John realizes that is exactly what is about to happen. 

“For Gods sake, John! Do you ever actually use that gelatinous muscle that is rotting away between your ears? Of course I want you here. I think I made that pretty obvious when I all but begged you to move back. As ever you see but you do not observe.”

John raises his hands, palm out, trying to calm Sherlock.

“Ok, alright! Sorry. I just want to help, but I don’t even know what’s wrong. I’m not you, Sherlock. I’ve never been able to deduce - as you so kindly pointed out. Can’t you just tell me? Just this once?”

Sherlock wrings his hands nervously and isn’t that a shock! Sherlock is _nervous._ Sherlock!

“You have a date tonight.”

It’s not a question. John looks at him with bewildered fondness. 

“Go on then. Tell me how you got there, you git.”

Sherlock shakes his head and eyes his bedroom door, likely plotting a convenient getaway.

“Oh no! You are not leaving that chair until we get this sorted. What the hell is the matter with you!”

Sherlock stands abruptly and practically roars back.

“How many, John? Just tell me how many more women I will have to watch parade through your life. Huh? Five? Ten? Fifteen? After Mary, I thought….but then it wasn’t and I figured that would be fine because we would have Baker St and the cases. But now you’re dating again and…”

Sherlock spits the word _dating_ at John like it is a despicable poisonous thing. John sucks in a breath and Sherlock looks up sharply. His eyes turn soft and beseeching.

“I can’t watch you with someone else, John. It’s tearing me apart. Please just, don’t ask it of me.”

John stares at Sherlock, who doesn’t look away. It takes a few seconds for John to absorb what Sherlock has said. Then, he is striding across the not-so-big sitting room. He stops abruptly in front of the genius. He is standing so close that their chests are touching and Sherlock can feel his warm, damp breath on his neck. 

In the last moment before their lips press gingerly together, John whispers,

“Dinner?”


End file.
